Twisted
by pondarosa
Summary: AU. Nasuada is not the queen, which gives her plenty of time to take over the world. Her plans are shaken to pieces, however, when she discovers that a certain somebody isn't exactly dead...


**Smile For Me, Alagaësia**

_Quick Explanation:_

Ajihad didn't die.

_Disclaimer:_

All you readers, please take note: I don't own anything that I quote.

* * *

-Ch. 1: Fight Like You Mean It -

_The songs of the dead are the lamentations of the living._

So thought Nasuada as she knelt by the bedside of her father, holding his cold hands in her own. Thick, short candles were scattered across the room, burning steadily in the low light.

Nasuada sat back and sighed. Her father's face was harsh with pain, and the deep gashes across his chest had yet to heal. "Father?" she said cautiously.

Ajihad made no sound.

Nasuada instinctively reached out and touched his forehead. "If you die, I will be very displeased," she warned, a tremor undermining the threat. She felt close to tears. "Remember the plan? I'll have to be Queen if you die, and I don't know how good I'll be at that. And now I think Murtagh's gone, and so are the Twins, and Eragon nearly got sliced in half by the Shade, so we can't have you dying on us now."

The faintest breath eased out of Ajihad's lips, and his eyes opened. They were bleary. "Nasuada," he whispered.

"Don't talk," she said instantly, tears welling up in her eyes. "It's all right, just don't try and move."

A slight smile crooked at Ajihad's mouth. "I'm not going to die," he said hoarsely, but the announcement held strength. That, more then anything, gave her hope.

Nasuada wiped her eyes with the heel of her palm. "You better not," she muttered.

"Send for the healers," said the King of the Varden.

Nasuada nodded, gave his hand a slight squeeze, and then got up and went to the heavy door to open it. A stout, curly-headed woman was dozing outside. "Angela," Nasuada hissed. "Ajihad's awake."

The blonde woman lifted her head off her chest and glared at Nasuada. "It's about time, you know. I've been worried he was going to die for an entire day."

Nasuada bit her lip and wiped away the tears that trickled out of her eyes. "Me too," she sniffed. It had been so hard watching her father lay at death's door—she had been helpless, and she hated to admit that.

Angela gave a Nasuada wry smile, new lines etched onto her face from stress, but her expression looked more relaxed then it had been four hours before. "It's all right, Princess. If he's awake and talking, that's good."

"Good," echoed Nasuada.

"If you feel up to it, you should go talk to Eragon or Arya. They were both there when your father was attacked."

"I will do that," said Nasuada, trying to gather up the shreds of her dignity. "Thank you, Angela—you've been very helpful."

"It's the least I can do," said the woman, shrewd eyes studying the princess. "I've always liked your father. Come to think of it, I rather like _you—_you're not some bumbling cotton-fluff of a girl. Now go away. If you wish to see him, Eragon's on the bottom level in an old guardroom."

Nasuada couldn't help but smile as she turned and walked away. It had been a long time since she'd been bossed around.

"Eragon?" she called quietly outside the old guardroom's door. "Are you in there?"

The door swung open. Nasuada was shocked when she saw the Dragon Rider—his face was haggard and pale, and his eyes seemed sunken with pain. However, he looked alert and alive. "Princess Nasuada," he greeted, eyes sweeping over her tearstained face. A flicker of alarm appeared in his eyes. "Is Ajihad well?"

"Oh—yes!" She had said as much to the anxious crowd inside Tronjheim, and had received a mighty cheer in response. "Yes, he is doing well—he's awake and is talking."

A relieved smile split Eragon's face, and he moved aside to let her in. "Then that's very good! I wish I could have gotten to him earlier."

"Yes—about that…" Nasuada said. "Could you tell me what happened? Tell me of Murtagh, as well." A note of sadness entered her voice as she swept into Eragon's cramped chambers, the hem of her velvet skirt dragging on the dirty floor.

He followed her and closed the door with a soft click. Nasuada studied the room. "So tell me, Eragon, what happened?" Her black eyes met his worn brown ones in the mirror.

He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. He looked…tired.

How odd, to put all that trust in the last Dragon Rider, only to realize he is just a man, like any other, Nasuada realized.

Not even that—he was barely even sixteen.

"I was on the battlefield," he began. "I had met Jörmundur, and he said that Ajihad would be back from hunting Urgals soon. Arya, Orik, Saphira and I were waiting for his group when the Urgals attacked."

"What happened then?" Nasuada prompted, unconsciously clenching her hands.

Eragon gazed out the small window. "We went as fast as we could, but almost everybody was killed by the time we got there. Ajihad was lucky. He managed to kill five Urgals without being cut down."

"I know the rest," Nasuada said. "So, what has befallen Murtagh?"

"He's…Murtagh's gone. Arya thinks the Urgals killed him and the Twins," Eragon replied, his speech carefully controlled.

Nasuada rest her head on her knuckles. She had liked Murtagh—he was smart and cynical, and even handsome. She had flirted with him when she visited him…

That foolish girl seemed to have existed years before the worn Nasuada, who stood there now, exhausted and distraught.

She pulled her emotions under control. "Murtagh was a good man," she said softly. "I liked him a great deal, and it saddens me that he is gone." She straightened. "I thank you for taking the time to speak to me, Eragon. I believe I will be needed by my father."

He nodded and opened the door for her. "Goodbye, my lady."

Nasuada strode out of his chambers, her head inclined haughtily.

She passed through the marble halls of Tronjheim like a shadow, wishing to avoid the Varden who would demand news of her father. It was childish to avoid her people as such, she knew, but they already knew that her father was alive.

She went to the pulleys at the back of Vol Turin, the Endless Staircase, and hauled herself up to the third floor. Her father was in an out-of-the way room for noble guests, so she slipped back through the door to speak with him.

"Nasuada, my child," Ajihad said, his voice gravelly. A mountain of pillows propped him up, and his eyes were bright and alert. "We have things to discuss."

"Yes, father," she said, blowing out the stubby candles and pushing the covers off the windows. Pale sunlight shone into the room. "I take it that you're better?"

He grinned and thumped his chest. "I am indeed! Angela gave me a potion and healed me completely, but I'll have to stay in bed for another day. She says I'll be a little stiff, but other then that, I'm well."

Nasuada couldn't help but grin—it was the first time she had felt truly happy since the battle four days ago. "Yes, well, now we have to talk politics. Things have…shifted since you were ambushed. Murtagh is dead—Urgals got him."

"As they nearly got me," Ajihad mused. "I am sorry to hear this. Murtagh had potential, and he was a very adept swordsman. Speaking of adapt swordsmen, Eragon needs to be taught politics. He cannot avoid the court forever, and my advisors will undoubtedly try to maneuver him."

"Especially Elessari," Nasuada muttered darkly.

Ajihad chuckled. "You just dislike her because she thinks you're light-headed. And because she called you a darling girl when you turned seventeen."

"True," Nasuada conceded. "And Arya has said to me that Eragon will be going to train with the elves."

Ajihad nodded. "Then I should ask him to be my vassal or some other such matter. The dwarves and the elves will want to keep their control over him, though. They will undoubtedly do something similar—but that works to our advantage. Eragon is _very_ important. He is the person that will bring the three races together."

"Perhaps," said Nasuada thoughtfully. "As it is, Eragon has not needed to be politically correct so far, but he will need it if he goes to the elves. They are very strict about those sort of things."

Ajihad nodded again, a slight smile curling the corners of his mouth. "They are indeed."

Nasuada twisted her hands in her lap. "And…I think it would be wise to move the Varden to Surda." The last words tumbled out of her mouth in a rush.

Ajihad looked astonished. "But _why_? You know how valuable Tronjheim is to our people."

"I have spent several days reviewing the Varden's affairs. It was an unhappy affair—we are poor, over-extended, and low on supplies, and few recruits are joining us from the Empire. If we move to Surda, we will finally be close enough to engage the Empire directly."

Her father gaped at her in shock. "King Orrin doesn't dare oppose Galbatorix. He has said so since the beginning of this war."

"His stance has changed," said Nasuada briefly. Her blood fizzled with nerves as she waited for her idea to be shot down.

Ajihad stared hard at her, obviously deep in thought. "It's radical…very risky." Then suddenly, his face broke into a large smile. "What did I do to deserve such an intelligent daughter?"

"Nothing much," Nasuada quipped, "In fact, I'm fairly certain you do not deserve me, after all." Her father chuckled as she got up to open the window.

A brief silence fell over the room, where Ajihad shifted on his pillow mountain and sighed. Then he spoke again. "Nasuada, I know we have spoken of this before, but what would happen if I were to die while you were away on the plan? Who would be the leader of the Varden?"

Nasuada hesitated. "I think…it would be prudent…to appoint Jörmundur as the Regent while I was acting on the plan, but say that I was the Queen. I know Jörmundur. He knows your strategies, and he would set them in place."

"Very good, Nasuada," Ajihad approved, stroking his close-clipped beard. "Now, about the plan…are you really ready to carry it out?"

"As ready as I will ever be."

"Have you learned how to conceal your memories? Have you learned how to replace them with false ones?" Ajihad's eyes were piercing. "Nasuada, _this is vital_. You could be tortured, even killed."

"Father…" Nasuada's voice was steady as rock. "I _am_ ready. I know what I must do, and I know the price if I fail. But…this is the _right_ time for a revolution. I can feel it." When she opened her eyes, they were bright. "I truly think this might actually happen. If all the races ally, and Surda joins forces with us—I think we can actually defeat them."

Ajihad regarded her with a wistful smile. "You are the image of your mother, my dear."

"Thank you," she said quietly, head bowed.

"That's not a good thing," he said humorously, but his eyes were sad. "Come now, embrace your old father one more time."

Nasuada leaned down and hugged him fiercely. "I _will_ do this," she muttered into his ear.

"I know you will," he muttered back. She released him and stood upright. He closed his eyes. "Go now, my child. May whatever gods there are watch over you."

Nasuada bowed, and then left the room, wiping away tears with the heel of her palm.


End file.
